


Cotton & Calicoes

by bluejoseph



Series: Hozier is nice [5]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Ambigous Ending, Asphyxiation, Genetic Modification, Hozier, Jurassic Park References, M/M, Songfic, Yikes, i can't tag, i guess?, if they could that they didn't stop to think, if they should' vibes, is the procedure good or bad??? u decide, past scientific experimentation, this gives me jurassic park 'ur scientists were so focused on, would that I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejoseph/pseuds/bluejoseph
Summary: And it is when the light begins to die, when the world goes blue-black in its slumber, when things begin to change. It is when the sun dips its toes behind the mountains, testing the waters, before plunging completely, submerged, gone. It is in these moments when they grow restless.They weren’t supposed to be. There was never supposed to be any downsides to this.





	Cotton & Calicoes

**Author's Note:**

> im? not sure what this was?? i had another idea for this lyric but it was 90% projecting with no plot. this is similar in some ways I guess??? enjoy????? i like using lots of question marks??????????

And it is when the light begins to die, when the world goes blue-black in its slumber, when things begin to change. It is when the sun dips its toes behind the mountains, testing the waters, before plunging completely, submerged, gone. It is in these moments when they grow restless.

They weren’t supposed to be. There was never supposed to be any downsides to this. 

Tyler doesn’t see it as a downside. It feels less like a side effect, more like an instinct brought up from the far reaches of his brain, like something old revived.

There is a part of this something old that makes him wake up in these later hours. His senses sharpen--even more so than usual--and his thoughts are clearer. He doesn’t need to sleep as much, although sometimes he tries.

The procedure was several months ago, but it can take his body over a year to adjust, so he is living with his parents, at least for a time. They bring a sense of normalcy to this, almost. Of course, at first, they were a bit concerned; he didn’t miss their sideways glances, their worried looks. They were especially worried when he talked about how much his eyes hurt. They even took him to the doctor for it, once, but of course, there wasn’t much they could do. Eventually, Tyler stopped mentioning the pain. 

His parents have relaxed a little, now; they've gotten used to his slightly altered appearance and mannerisms. They’re awed, indeed, by some of his abilities now. He takes pride in them, especially his heightened senses. He doesn’t know how he lived without them.

They know about his nighttime activities, he thinks, but they wish they didn’t.

There’s a bit of a moon out tonight, making the world even clearer to his sensitive eyes. Tyler carefully steps through the house, pajama-clad and barefooted. He hears the cat rise from her bed, step delicately across the hardwood floor to meet him, and he strokes her soft fur for a moment. 

They can’t communicate with one another, at least not on a vocal level, but they seem to have a stronger bond than before the procedure. She always gets up when she hears him at this hour, and she always sits by the back door, looking outside and waiting.

That’s his cue. His cue, his instinct, this urge in his blood that makes him antsy.

Tyler begins to pace, back and forth, from the doorway, along the bookshelves, to the living room, and back again. Back and forth, a ship rocking on a turbulent sea. It’s not an anxiety, though, so much as an energy, a building desire to wander.

Ten more minutes of pacing, and finally, he hears the signal; a soft scratching at the edge of the yard, nails against wood fence. 

The sound would be almost imperceptible to most, but Tyler’s ears pick it up easily. He smoothly opens the sliding screen door, letting the cat out, along with himself. 

Everything about the yard relieves the urge in his heart--the cool breeze, the grass tickling his feet. He pads towards the fence, careful, but he can already tell it’s Josh. He smells like chlorine and lemongrass. Tyler scales the fence in seconds.

“‘Evening,” Josh says as he lands deftly on the grass. He’s wearing short sleeves tonight, his coarse arm hair visible; another side effect. Tyler likes when he wears short sleeves.

“‘Evening,” he replies lightly. Perhaps he is happy to see Josh, and perhaps a smile crosses his face when Josh kisses his hands. They’re so stupidly formal about all of this.

Tyler likes this time of day--or night, he supposes--the best. The sidewalks are cool and empty. There’s no one else around, just the two of them. The smidge of paranoia within him--side effect--is soothed by knowing that most others would be at a disadvantage in the dark, whereas he and Josh are perhaps even better functioning at this time.

If anyone were to drive past them now, high beams on in the dark, their eyes would shine like reflectors.

The Taco Bell is almost four miles from Tyler’s house, but their endurance is on their side, and neither is feeling particularly tired when they enter the building. Josh orders for the both of them--they always get the same thing, two chalupas, and two baja blasts--and they get a booth in the back of the restaurant, sitting on the same seat so they can lean into one another as they eat.

Most nights, with it being so late, they were usually the only people there, save for the employees. Now and then, though, some bedraggled, worn customer would come in and spot them in their booth in the corner.

Tyler never minds the stares. He knows he is different; he’d chosen this and he knew this was a probability. There is nothing natural about his eyes, the rapid and dramatic shrinking and growing of his pupils. There is nothing natural about his sharp teeth, the points of his fingernails and the frequent twitching of his nose.

There is nothing natural about Josh’s eyes, either, nor his thick body hair, or the low growls he makes in his throat when he gets upset. He’d chosen this, too, but when somebody would stare at them for too long, he’d get defensive, glaring them down until they looked away. He also says he doesn’t mind the stares, but Tyler knows he does.

Thankfully, tonight, they were are to their own devices. They eat their food swiftly, then lounge in the seat, talking quietly and sipping their drinks until the employees start to give them annoyed looks.

They leave some time around two, tossing their empty drink cups on the way out, linking their fingers together and swinging their hands. Josh talks about the book Tyler lent him a few days ago, and Tyler just listens. 

These hours together are precious to him. Not only because he loves Josh--assuredly, he does. It’s also because he feels more connected with him than he does others. They both survived the procedure, they both have heightened senses. They both have that strange instinct that neither one is able to explain, but recognizes in the other instantly. It’s something they didn’t have before the procedure, the altered genes that gave them so much.

The procedure. Tyler doesn’t really remember it at all. They injected him with the genes, he’s sure, and he remembers it hurt, but everything after that, up until the next morning, is a blur. His most vivid memory of the whole thing is waking up, the day after, with perfect vision.

Tyler was legally blind from an accident, and Josh was born nearly deaf. The procedure gave them a second chance. 

As they cross the street towards Tyler’s house, he picks up an unpleasant, bitter scent, and wrinkles his nose. Josh visibly flinches, like he’s been hit. 

“Neighbor’s taken up smoking,” he says, strained. “Let’s hurry.”

They hurry across the lawn, scramble over the fence, messily this time. Tyler opens the screen door, letting them both inside, before quickly closing it again. He closes the sliding glass door, too, and then the curtain, for good measure. 

Josh’s breathing is a bit labored as they make their way upstairs, and he flops onto Tyler’s bed, grabbing one of his hoodies and putting it over his face to try to mask, to get rid of, the scent of nicotine and smoke. Tyler checks and double-checks that the window is shut.

His heart is still racing, but he feels better, now. Josh is still wheezing a little, so Tyler sits with him, holding his hand and waiting for it to pass.

The doctors said they would be able to hear, to see, but they didn’t mention that every bright light would be painful, every strong smell would be overpowering. Nobody told Tyler how much his eyes would hurt. Nobody told Josh his ears would randomly start ringing. Nobody told them their skin would be constantly itchy, that their sleep schedules would be thrown out the window, that their lungs would struggle with foreign particles like they are now.

It takes twenty minutes. Tyler seriously considers calling an ambulance, but Josh is still tightly squeezing his hand, a reassurance that he’ll be fine, so he waits. 

When Josh finally pushes the hoodie off his face, he looks exhausted. Their lungs just can’t take any strong scents, and they’re both worn out.

“Okay?” Tyler asks. He rubs the back of Josh’s hand with his thumb.

Josh takes in a few slow breaths, nods. “Okay.”

They fall asleep on top of the blankets, with the ceiling fan on. When Tyler wakes the next morning, Josh is gone, along with his hoodie. He sits on the edge of his bed, eyes sharp, nose twitching, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "would that I" by hozier


End file.
